Theatre
An inspector calls
by Frances Edmond
Joe Orton’s black farce Loot was first produced in 1966 and has continued to be celebrated for its irreverent bad taste and absurdist morality; it has been described as Monty Python crossed with Oscar Wilde.
Mrs McLeavy lies in her coffin, mourned by her husband (David McPhail) and apparently by her Nurse Fay (Mia Blake) – at 28, a veteran of seven marriages and eyeing up Mr McLeavy for her eighth. Meanwhile, son Hal (David van Horn) and his mate – in more than just the obvious sense – Dennis (Charlie McDermott), an undertaker’s driver, have robbed a bank and stashed the proceeds in a locked wardrobe. Threatened with discovery, they swap the contents of the wardrobe for those of the coffin.
As the crimes, misunderstandings and bizarre behaviour accumulate, Inspector Truscott (Cameron Rhodes), alias the Man from the Metropolitan Water Board, is on everyone’s tail. Parodying detective fiction, the play mercilessly satirises attitudes to death and dying, Catholicism, and, most hilariously, the competence (or otherwise) of the British police force.
On Rachel Walker’s precise grey and black set, Michael Hurst’s production authentically recreates the feel of the 60s, complete with music by the Beatles and the Kinks. But does Loot__ stand the test of time? In some ways yes, in others no, given it is not quite old enough to achieve the status of a “period piece”.
Orton’s genius ensures the play is richly endowed with clever and acerbic one-
liners: “You’ve been a widower three days. Have you considered remarrying?” However, at times it is wordy and static. Written in a pre-digital age, its verbal set-ups can be laboured for a modern audience. The denouement, though it has some riotously funny moments, on opening night suffered both from being overlong and at the same time rushed, which meant that some comedic opportunities were glossed over. No doubt it will settle as the season progresses.
However, the evening belongs to the actors, all of whom relish the opportunity for extravagantly absurd characterisation. Rhodes, as the idiotic, self-aggrandising Truscott, gives more than a nod to Sherlock Holmes in his ridiculously engaging portrayal; McPhail alternates between heart-broken husband and outraged citizen and deservedly brought the house down in the scene after the hearse’s accident. Blake statuesquely graces the stage as the shamelessly self-serving Fay, and van Horn and McDermott are both wickedly funny and appealing as the incompetent and ingenuous criminals.
